Being Lance
by Chinese Bakery
Summary: I thought about that man. Lance. I wondered what it would be like to be him. The prospect of killing you made me mourn him. Spoilers for 2x21.


**Being Lance**

* * *

She was silent for a long time as she sat opposite him. She stared at her hands, at the guard's uniform, at a spot on the wall behind him, before she gathered the courage to look at his face. His benign, patient expression was disconcerting. Sara took a deep breath before she finally spoke.

"I'm not sure why I came here. I was advised not to. But I guess I just wanted… needed to say it." She paused and looked at him straight in the eye as she said, "Thank you."

The irony wasn't lost on either of them and he shot her his first genuine smile in weeks. For a moment there, he really looked like the confused and lonely addict he had once impersonated to gain her trust.

"I only did what needed to be done."

"Given our history, you're the last person I expected to help me."

"I told you before, Sara. It wasn't personal. I believed I was serving a greater purpose."

"And now?"

"I wouldn't be here if I hadn't changed my mind."

"If it weren't for you, I'd be sitting on the opposite side of this table."

"It wouldn't be right."

She looked conflicted for a second before she let her gaze drop to her hands once more. When she spoke again, her voice wasn't soft or shy anymore. "You tried to kill me."

"You tried to kill me, too."

"_You_ deserved it," she spat, affronted.

"Probably," he replied, sounding as placid as ever. "I was following orders. That doesn't mean I liked what I was ordered to do. I usually didn't."

"Why did you do it then?"

"I had faith in Caroline Reynolds. The same unwavering faith you put in Michael Scofield. I would have done anything she asked, just like you'd do for him. You left that door open. You gave up your whole life without expecting anything in return."

"I left that door open to save an innocent man's life, not…"

"Don't fool yourself, Sara. You didn't flush your life down the toilet to help Lincoln Burrows. Without Scofield's pretty face, what would you have done to help his brother? Join the protesters in front of the penitentiary? He was your first death-row inmate patient and you didn't even feel the need to look into his case before you met him."

She wanted to protest, but he was right, of course. She felt her cheeks grow warmer as she got the impression, not for the first time, that he could see right through her.

"There's something I always wanted to ask you."

"Go ahead," he nodded.

"What were you thinking about when you left me alone in that motel bathroom?"

It was very satisfying to see him unsettled for once. He had not expected that, and she saw his carefully crafted mask of benevolent indifference shake. He hesitated for a minute, searching for the right words.

"I thought about that man. Lance. I wondered what it would be like to be him. The prospect of killing you made me… mourn him. I'm not delusional; I knew it was too late to be that guy. I had killed before. Often. But this time was more… difficult for some reason. Maybe I was already losing my faith."

"What made it difficult?" she asked quickly, before she lost her nerve.

"I liked you. I liked how easy you made it to be someone else. I felt the urge to protect you. You were so trusting, so harmless and at the same time, guarded and secretive. I guess I recognized a side of myself in that blind, foolish allegiance you have for Scofield."

"And yet, you didn't have to think twice before holding a gun up to my face."

"Actually, I did. I might be a killer, but I'm not a robot. I can enjoy flirting and sharing a piece of pie with a woman who doesn't know who I really am. And I did enjoy it. So did you."

"I was being friendly, not flirting with you."

"Is that what you think? Tell yourself what you like, but we wouldn't be having this little heart to heart if I hadn't gotten to you."

"You got to me when you tried to kill me! You don't know _anything_ about me. How can you imply…"

"Don't you realize that we're very much alike? There is a connection here, Sara. I think we can relate to each other's… inner conflicts." He bent over the table, his sudden closeness making her feel less uncomfortable that it should have, and whispered, "I know what it's like to fight against yourself, day after day. I understand you more than Scofield ever will. You and I, we're not selfless or altruistic. We self-destruct and surrender ourselves to someone else, hoping they'll make us feel like less of an empty shell. You did drugs; I embraced a career that destroyed my soul. You let him take over your life; I put my fate in Caroline's hands. Do you see a pattern here?"

"Michael didn't take over anything. I helped him because I believed it was the right thing to do."

"And now it's all over and you're still holding on. Can you honestly say that you're not waiting for his release to resume living altogether?"

She opened her mouth but no sound would come out. She thought about her routine, how much it felt like she was in prison as much as Michael was. Paul's smile looked suddenly condescending.

"I thought so. Well, I hope it works out better for you than it did for me, Sara."

She couldn't hold his gaze anymore. She didn't want to hear him say her name that way, that _affectionate_ way, anymore. She had come here to give her thanks before shutting the door on that part of her life, but she had lost control over the situation the moment she had entered the room. She liked to think of Paul Kellerman as some sort of sociopath monster, not a man who had made all the wrong choices. As much as she wanted to refute them, his words hit too close to home. This conversation felt more intimate than anything she would have expected or wanted from this man. It was confusing. Dangerous. It was making it hard to breathe.

Without another word, she rose up from her seat and turned to the door, but something made her freeze in her tracks. She turned back slowly without looking at him and asked, before she had time to think twice, "Do you want me to… come back? To visit you, I mean."

"I would have thought you were fed up with the whole prison visitation ordeal. Are you developing a fetish or do you just miss the place?" He smiled again, the smile that belonged to the man he was not. "It wouldn't look good for you, Sara. Besides, chances are my days here are numbered. I have to say, I'm surprised to be still alive. I've said my goodbyes. I'm… at peace. But it was very nice of you to ask."

As he said those words, the charm was broken and his mask fell back into place. She nodded and left the room, escorted by an officer, seconds before the first tears rolled down her face. She all but ran all the way back out.

-------------------------------

When she sat in the passenger seat, Lincoln looked even more worried than he had when he dropped her in front of the prison.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I guess. He makes it… difficult to hate him."

"Am I gonna need to drive you to _another_ prison every week?"

"No. He doesn't want me to visit him anymore."

"I heard that one before," he mumbled while starting the engine.


End file.
